thirty-eight to twenty-four
by acidhu3s
Summary: an agent 3 x agent 8 oneshot collection. contains m/m, m/f, and f/f. send requests if you'd like.
1. 001 - M, Phone (K plus)

**prompts (and ship specifications) are all randomly generated! prompts are from kogamis fluff generator, gender is selected by an rng (1 - m/m, 2 - m/f, 3 - f/f). so if its not what you like... sorry, i guess. im having a Moment so i have like, a few of these written. those will be uploaded...eventually!**

* * *

Saturdays are relaxing. It's the start of the weekend, it's a day for Three to unwind, get some laundry done, and procrastinate on paperwork and reports he has to file. All-in-all, it's peaceful. Serene. And... He gets to spend time with Eight! ...Not like he was _excited_ about that or something. Well... Maybe he is. Just a little. Maybe more than that. Maybe he's secretly really happy about that but he doesn't want to tell anyone because that's not very stoic or cool of him.

Just food for thought.

But... Speaking of Eight, the octoling's... Really _weird_. In a bad way. It's like an Ouroboros worm of bad, because it cycles around to become good. And... Well, Three can get behind that. Yeah, Eight's rude, and sometimes he snaps at small children, and... Well, actually, he's just kind of snappy... But Three still loves him. That's not a _weird_ thing to say, is it? Because... Because they _are_ dating. It shouldn't be weird to say that, right? Yeah, no, it's not weird! You heard it here first!

Still. He's getting sidetracked.

Later today they had a lunch date planned, (Three doesn't like the word "date" much because that's all mushy and romantic. Eight called him a "Stupid moron" because "We've been dating for six months, why CAN'T we be mushy and romantic" but what does HE know? Mushy and romantic is buying chocolates and maybe learning an instrument to play your partner a song on it for their birthday. Not like Three's going to do that or anything.) and Three had just texted Eight about it - mostly just to figure out when he should pick him up. Since he can't drive and refuses to learn how to drive because cars are "Archaic hunks of garbage." Yeah? Well, Three thinks _you're_ an archaic hunk of garbage! ...No he doesn't. That's mean, actually. Three knows Eight can't listen to his thoughts, but he wants to apologize anyways.

Yeah! So, lunch... Lunch meet-up. Lunch meet-up with romantic undertones. And overtones... Or something. L.M.U.W.R.U.A.O.O.S. for short. (Name pending.)

One thing that annoys him about Eight, though, is his phone habits. Not like he spends a lot of time on it anything! Like, Eight doesn't have an addiction, and Three doesn't have to beg him to stop playing mobile games and just talk to him for once, but... He _never_ texts back. And Eight is perfectly capable of reading! He's better at it than Three, now that he thinks about it. But whenever Three texts him... He just calls back. And that makes looking through texts difficult! Once he asked Eight what he wanted from the store, and then Eight called him, which is fine or whatever, but then, after they hung up, Three FORGOT! And, yeah, maybe he should've written the things down, but Eight should have just texted him! (Plus, Three's pretty self-conscious about his voice. It's kind of scratchy and high-pitched, for a guy's, and it breaks more than it should, and Eight _knows_ this-)

Three's phone buzzes loudly against the table.

See what he means?

Picking it up, Three answers it.

"Hey, Eight," he says with a sigh.

"Mornin', doll." Three can just _hear_ his smirk through the phone. Lousy smug punk loser. "What's up?"

"Eight, it's 2:00 PM. And... Did you even read my text?" Three has a bad habit of pacing whenever he's on the phone, so now he's just doing laps in his living room. "What time do you want me to pick you up?"

"Oh, I read it. Just wanted to hear your voice!" He laughs. Three _hates_ that about him - he laughs at, like, everything! And... And his laugh is stupid, too, because it's... Nice to hear. And maybe sort of attractive. Y'know. _For Eight._ "Uh, I'm ready now, so just swing by soon, I guess."

"Great," he mumbles, chuckling a little. Even if nothing was funny. How many tickles does it take to make an inkling laugh? Ten-tickles. Which, like, was a really bad joke! But... Eight told it to him. It wasn't original! But, it _was_ cute...

"Hey, babe. Yoohoo! Are ya listenin'?" Aw, seagulls, he totally wasn't!

"I, uh-"

Eight's laughter is much louder this time, more genuine.

"I _said,_ do you wanna go do something after we eat? We could watch a movie... Maybe kiss a little, yeah?" Stop smirking, you _idiot._

"Cod, you're lucky I love you..." Three says, rolling his eyes with a grin. "Yeah, sure. But we're not making out in the movie theater."

"Aw, c'mon, babe-"

"We'll get kicked out. And it's rude. Not like you ever _cared_ about being rude..." He presses the phone up to his ear with his shoulder as he throws on his jacket. "If you don't mind me asking, why do you always call me, anyways?"

"You pick up," comes his blunt reply.

"Well, yeah, 'cause it's rude not to... Is there anything _else_ , though?"

"Yeah," Eight mumbles, "I like your voice."

Three, who had just left his house and was about to lock the door, froze.

"What?"

"I said I like your voice. It's cute." Three blushes - of _course_ that'd be his reason. "I think you're cute, too, if that counts."

"Gee, thanks," he says beneath his breath. Maybe it's a good thing Eight called - if this was face-to-face, he'd see Three struggle to mask his grin. And then he'd tease him about it like the jerk he was.

"I know you're smilin', sugar dumplin'," he coos.

"Stop with the stupid nicknames," Three says, laughing. "Look, I'll see you in fifteen minutes, okay?"

"Okay, my lil doodle bug." Eight chuckles into the receiver. "We can even snog in a movie theater."

"Not a chance."


	2. 002 - H, Cookie (K)

"Hey, Three?" Eight calls from his room. "Could you come here?"

"Yeah, just gimme a moment," he calls back. "I'm making you something!"

"Are you making those disgusting crackers again?" Oh, Eight, ever judgmental! If only you knew the delicious deliciousness that they contained..!

"They're not disgusting! They're good!" Three defends his creation. Because... They _are_ good! Well, if he makes them right. And he's pretty much perfected that science! He's just gotta make sure the crackers don't get super soggy again. Since... That was actually kind of gross. And he _did_ side with Eight that time.

"Oh, _Cod_ , what the shell are you making, then?!" Eight sounds worried. And she shouldn't be. Three's a wonderful cook! ...Okay, maybe not, but _still_ _!_

"It's a surprise!" And he going to surprise her with them! And she WILL like them! Unless she doesn't! That'd be really bad! "I'm even following a recipe this time!"

"What do you mean _this time?!"_ She's still worried? "Three, do you remember when I tried to teach you how to make chicken Alfredo?"

"Okay, yeah, but..." It was... A disaster, actually. He somehow set the noodles aflame, and Eight banned him from cooking at her place.

But this wasn't her place, now WAS it?!

"Three, nothing is simpler than chicken Alfredo!" Uhh, that's a _lie_ , chicken Alfredo was REALLY complex! "Just- Just don't hurt yourself, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, don't worry!"

"You say that every time, Three." Which, maybe he does, but it doesn't _always_ go wrong! "Please be careful."

"It's gonna be fine, don't worry!" He even laughs after he says it, which is, like, reassuring, or something!

* * *

Everything had gone wrong. Smoke pours from the oven, and Three's going to _panic._

He just wanted to make his girlfriend cookies. He even got the recipe from his mom! And his mom was really great at baking!

And these cookies were... Not good. Not good at all, actually.

"Three!" Eight yells, running into the kitchen. "Three, what in the _shell_ did you do?!"

"I-" he stammers. "I wanted to make you cookies! Because I love you!"

Eight looks at Three, and then looks down at the oven, and then back at Three, and then-

"Three," she says with a sigh, snatching an oven mitt and pulling the cookies out. She coughs a bit (probably from all the smoke) and then a bit more. "Cod, what did you _do_ to these?!"

"Sorry!" he yells, because he really is. How did he let any of this happen? Because, like, it was going well! And it _wasn't_ on fire! And... And now it is! "Do you, uh, need the fire ex-"

"Yeah, just- Just hurry up!"

Eight had been nice enough to organize his stuff, and he was truly, honestly grateful right about now, because it made finding the fire extinguisher really easy.

"Okay, move away!" Once he was sure Eight was not about to get sprayed by fire-extinguishing juice, he starts to spray the cookies. Like, a lot of spraying. Make like a charger and spray and pray! Or, something like that. Now's not the time for that.

Once the fire had been taken care of (Thank _Cod_ it had been), Eight slumps down onto the kitchen floor as Three tosses the baking sheet and cookies into the trash.

"Three," she says, exasperated. "Please, for the love of all things, _don't ever do that again._ "

"Yeah," he breathes, "Yeah, I won't."

"Now..." Eight looks up at him. "Do... Do you want to go to the store? They have prepackaged cookie dough. And you can actually follow the instructions on that. Or... Better yet, just... I don't know."

"Um, weeeell..." Man, this was awkward now..! "What'd you want to show me, anyways?"

"It's... I totally forgot, actually." Eight blushes a little. "Look, Three, I love you. You know that, right?"

"Yeah," he mumbles, "I love you too."


	3. 003 - F, Sleep (K)

Eight liked being on the surface. Everything about it was new, and special, and not full of murder! It was... Refreshing, especially after having to go through Kamabo. Maybe the best part about it was... Three. (Maybe she was biased.)

But, could you blame her? (You couldn't.) Three had saved her multiple times, and she had looked _so cool_ while doing it, too! And then, she let her LIVE with her, which was also super cool! She was... She was like a superhero! (Three turned neon green the first time she told her that. "Knock it off," she mumbled, in a totally less articulate way, but it was true!) And... On top of that, Three was... Really cute. Eight didn't notice it at first, because Three spent a lot of time trying to look _not_ cute, but that always backfired and made her look even cuter! And, yeah, Three _was_ capable of murder, but... That was cute, too. In a hot way. So... Maybe it was just hot.

Look, Eight didn't come here to be judged for her taste in women.

Maybe the cutest thing of all, though, were Three's sleeping habits. (Was that a weird thing to say?) The two had been sharing a bed ("I-It's. It's to save costs. I don't. Like you or anything. WAIT ImeanIdolikeyoubutnotlikethat? Unless. Unless you also. Like me like that. In which case. Yeah. Cod, I want to die," had been Three's reasoning, and Eight still has no idea what that meant.) for the past few months, and it wasn't all that bad! It was a little cramped, but... It was nice. And Three looked really cute when she was sleeping. And... She _really_ liked cuddling. And that was SUPER cute (It still is, actually)... But, she... She was so _warm._ And that's not necessarily a bad thing! Except. Sometimes. It kind of is.

Like right now, for instance.

Three's, for lack of better words, glued to Eight. Her arms are wrapped around Eight, and her left leg rests atop Eight's legs. And Eight? Eight is _warm._ Beyond warm, actually. She's sweating. But... She doesn't have the heart to move Three. How could she? Three had always been a light sleeper, after all, and... She was cute. Maybe she was just really, really cute and it'd break Eight's hearts to have to move her and wake her and she'd be like "Eight, why'd you wake me up..?" and get all grumpy and Eight would roll onto her side and apologize but she really wants to sleep and then Three would just latch on again and whine "Eiiiiight" into her ear (The way she does when she wants something) and Eight can't just say no to that, because what is she, some kind of monster?, so she'd roll over the other way again and she'd hold Three the way she always does and they'd fall back asleep and Eight would still be really warm.

So. She's just waiting. She can probably fall back asleep, right? And... If not, that's what coffee's for.

Right?

... Oh, Cod, she's so warm.

"I can't do this," Eight mumbles, and slowly begins prying Three's limbs off of her. She's so sorry, Three.

And, sure enough, Three stirs once her comfort girlfriend moves.

"Eight..?" She's still groggy and kind of confused. "What happened..?"

"You're _warm_ , Three," Eight mumbles. "I'm sweating. Just... Just give me a moment..."

She rolls over to the cooler side of the bed. It's... So refreshing.

"Eiiiiight," Three whines. "Eiiight, c'mon... I love you..."

"You're never this cute when you're actually awake," Eight says, knowing Three won't remember this when morning comes.

"Eiiiiiiiiiiiiiight," she whines again, fumbling through the blankets she always wrapped herself in to reach Eight. "C'mon... Please..." Three wraps her arms around Eight in a hug.

"I... Alright, fine." And... Eight gives in. Again. "I don't know why you always do this..."

"I love you," she says in that stupid, dopey, it's-3AM-and-I-don't-know-what-I'm-saying kind of way. Oh! Slurred. That's the word.

"Get off of me," Eight says with a laugh as she turns to face Three. Wrapping her arms around Three, she pulls her closer. Three lets out a small noise of content.

And... Yeah, maybe Three _is_ super warm and Eight is kind of dying... But at least she's cute!

("What the shell are you even talking about?" Three says the next morning. "You know I'd never do that.")


	4. 004 - H, Smile (T)

Life sucked.

And, well, maybe Eight sounded really whiny. But does she care? Not really.

It's dull, it's boring, and it's repetivite. Because all she does every day is the same thing. Make some bread, make beds, clean some clothes... All of her other friends did... Things that WEREN'T that! Like, uh, crime. Mostly theft and a little murder. But... Well, that's what they _had_ to do, isn't it? Because they were lowly peasants. Or something along those lines. All because they possessed magic.

If Eight was going to be real with you, magic isn't even that helpful most of the time. Sure, it helps if you fight a lot, but she doesn't. And, even if she did, controlling it is a whole different issue! Her strain of magic was called the Ignis strain - or, in simpler terms, she can create fire. A whole lot of fire. And her friends were nice enough to steal some magic-blocking gloves! So now Eight doesn't set everything on fire.

What nice people, those thieves.

"Hey! Firecracker!" Oh, hey, speak of the devil. "How's it goin'?"

Eight glanced up from the dough she's working on. Sitting at a table is another girl with pitch-black hair and bright green eyes.

"Good morning, Sandra." Sandra possessed the Silva strain, and she made sure everyone was aware of the fact. Flowers grew from her head, changing with the day. Sandra said it was a display of power. Eight said it was a waste of mana. "I'm quite alright. How was it today?"

"Eh. Same old, same old." And that could mean anything. "We were gonna hit up a nearby village, but apparently the prince's comin' to town today."

"Oh?" That's interesting. Things like that don't happen often. "Why?"

"Not sure," she said, shrugging carelessly. "Heard he's cute, if anything." Ah. Because of course that's what Sandra had heard.

"Will he be coming alone?"

"Yeah, I think so. Dunno why, but hey... He's probably single." Sandra smirked. Eight wanted to slam her head against a wall. Which her? Doesn't matter. Heads will slam. Mostly because this happened every time a guy from another place entered their town. ...Or girl, actually. And... Yes, maybe it's because Eight complains about being single every so often when she gets a little too drunk, but... Still.

"Oh, come on, Sandra." She rolled her eyes. Sandra only laughed. "But... It's rather odd that he's coming alone, isn't it?"

"Why?" Oh, don't do it. "You interested?" She did it.

"No," Eight huffed. "I just think it's strange."

"Yeah, well..." Sandra cracked a smile. "Why don't we see what's up anyways?"

Yeah. Why not? The bread could wait.

* * *

He came alone.

The prince, or Three, as Eight came to learn, was _infuriating._ He flaunted his wealth, even if it was accidentally. His cloak - _not_ a cape, which was a point he stressed - was made of silk, embroidered with way too many fancy designs. And he seemed to know _nothing._ He asked someone what a sheep was! A _sheep!_

But... Besides that, he was rather nice. And right now he was sitting in the tavern that doubled as Eight's (and her friends') house.

"Is this beer made with corn?" he asked. Like Eight _knew._

"I don't know," she said, maybe a bit snappish. "Look, do you want it or not?"

"I'm drinking it, aren't I?" Then, after another sip, he added, "It's not bad. Different, but not bad."

"Right." Whatever you say, Mr. I-don't-know-what-a-sheep-is. "If you don't mind me asking, why did you come here?"

"Well..." He sighed. "You wear those gloves for a reason, yes?"

"...I suppose so." She looked down at her hands. The material the gloves were made of was expensive, and then it had to have been enchanted. It wasn't something she really should own, given her status. "Why?"

"You're a mage, yes?"

"Um, well..." Had Eight lived in a better area, she probably would have been able to train for it and make a decent living from it. But, as it stands, Eight merely had strong magic... And no idea as to how she's supposed to use it. "No. My magic's just strong."

"Ah... I see." Eight looked at his hands - he's wearing a pair of gloves as well, though they're fingerless. Which is... Somewhat impractical. "Are you curious about my strain?"

"You're a strain-holder?" Well, there were myths of royals possessing rare, powerful strains, which was how they (supposedly) rose to power. It was something Eight doubted - they probably just got there because they had a lot of money and a lot of land. "Isn't that just a myth?"

Three laughed. Had Eight said something funny?

"No. We just don't flaunt it." Yeah, right. "It's the Anguis strain. I'm able to control the earth itself."

"Isn't that the Terra strain?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "It's different. Stronger. I have the might of the Great Dragon flowing through me."

Oh yeah. He definitely doesn't flaunt it.

"Do you..?" Eight furrowed her brow. She doesn't quite believe him.

"Why don't I show you, then?" He smiles - it's too smug.

"Yes. Why don't you, dear prince?"

* * *

His technique was refined, trained, while Eight's was not. Three reanimated rocks, and could use them to create large, earthen beasts. That being said, each individual rock was controlled as each individual unit, and he had to move multiple ones at once to move the whole beast. It took control, and he proved he had a lot of it.

Eight, on the other hand, just spewed out mass amounts of fire, unable to truly control it. Three had given her some pointers, which was nice of him... Even Eight wasn't sure why.

"Thank you," she mumbled. Wow... She was _tired._ It was a dull ache that shot through her whole body - something Three said was normal after a lot of magic use.

"Oh, you're welcome." Three sat on a nearby rock. It was dark out. They were alone in the field. "Your technique needs some work, but your magic is strong. I wasn't expecting to find an Ignis here. I could help you some more with that, you know."

"I appreciate your offer, but... It's not like I could do much with that training either way. I'm stuck here." She sighed. "I'm stuck here in this town. That's okay... I have friends here, at the very least."

"I was wondering if you'd like to join my guard."

"I'm _sorry?"_ Why would he..?

"I found you interesting. You're not like the others in this town. You've got some semblance of taste, and your magic is strong. That's why I came here. I want to form my own royal guard. I don't quite trust the one my parents gave me." Three ran his hand through the grass. "And... Well, I've been thinking of... Rebelling. If only for their treatment of other strain-holders. It's... It's like they're scared of them. They want to be the only ones with magic. In the following years, they have a plan to execute each and every non-Anguis holder."

"What?" That's a lot to take in. Maybe a bit too much. "Can you... Repeat that last part?"

"My parents, the king and queen of Atramentos, want to execute every magic holder in the kingdom." Oh Great Dragon, that's not... Very good. "I have no reason to lie to you about this. So... Will you consider my offer?"

"You know what..? Sure."

* * *

The king lay dead at his feet. The queen, trapped in a prison of rock, was powerless.

Their rebellion... Had succeeded.

"We did it..." Eight breathed out after a long pause. Her body _hurt,_ screaming with pain. Her legs felt weak - _she_ felt weak. But... They did it.

"Yes, we did... Didn't we?" Three smiled - he looked even more tired than her. Then, suddenly, he collapsed to his knees, overcome with a hacking cough.

"Three? Three, are- Are you okay?" Eight dropped beside him, wrapping an arm around him. His hand, formerly clapped back to his mouth, was pulled away. Blood. There was blood in his hand. It glittered, a metallic gold, and it flew from his mouth with each cough. "Oh my god."

Ichor.

"It's-" He was cut off by another coughing fit. "It's okay. I'm okay, Eight."

"No you're _not,"_ she cried. "I can- I can find a healer. We have some people with the Convivifico strain, we-"

"No," he said weakly, cutting her off. "I- I'm okay. I'll be okay."

"You're coughing up _blood,_ _"_ she shrieked. "Are you- Why-"

He raised his non-bloody hand up her lips, shushing her.

"Come now, Eight." Oh, _god,_ his voice is so quiet. "I... Had a feeling this was going to happen. From the start. I was... Prepared to die. It's- It's from magic overuse." Noticing her tears, he tried to smile - it looked like a grimace. "N-Now, Eight... Smile for me, why don't you?"

"I- Y-You..."

"Please, Eight? I want the last thing I see to be you. You've always had such a nice smile..."

"You- You're not going to die. You can't die. I- You _can't."_ She- She can't accept it. She _won't._

"I'm sorry, Eight. But, you know... I always thought you'd make an excellent leader."

Eight doesn't say anything - just holds him tighter. She holds him, she keeps holding him, even as his coughs get stronger, even as his breathing stops, even as his body goes cold.

She _knew_ magic wasn't helpful.


	5. 005 - F, Rail (T)

**a merged society/cephalopolis au. octarians and inklings coexist**

 **next few prompts will be taken from onetruepairingideas (tumblr) 76 otp prompts list thingy post (and yeah, that IS the title)**

 **prompt number - 43**

* * *

Oh. Eight has regrets.

A lot of them, actually! Too many to count. Probably more than eight of them. If she asked an 8-ball if she screwed up right about now, it would come back as _It is certain._ Which is, like, the nat 20 of 8-ball answers.

So. Yeah. She's in a bit of pickle. Not like she could _say_ anything about it, unfortunately. Even if she wants to. A lot. Because no one's there! And even if someone was there, what could she do?

Well... Okay, there... There was a way to avoid this. But... Twenty thousand shells was twenty thousand shells. Even if her hand is currently lodged in a stair railing that she can't octopus out of. Mostly... Mostly because there're laws against publicly indecent squid and octopus forms. ("It creates a mess," they said. "There's hazardous ink on the ground," they said. "My arm's stuck in a railing," Eight pleads. "My hubris was my own undoing." And the law ignores her - "This is your punishment, you useless worm.")

Okay. So. Eight checks the time on her phone with her free hand. And... She didn't get signal here. Kind of a sucky part about where she lives, but... It's cool. Still! It's... It's 8:30 PM, or close enough to it. And she's just in the middle of the staircase. In a secluded part of it. Fun times! So... How long does she have to wait to get someone to help her? Shell, _can_ she even get someone to help her? Because... She can't bother Pearl... Or Marina. Since they had, like, lives or whatever. Frickin' casuals. And, uh... Sheesh. Eight's really lacking in the friends department, huh? Also she has no service. Right...

She slumps down the ground. Maybe she can, like, just make it look like she's been tying her shoe for the past ten minutes. Haha, that's funny... Eight's hand really hurts right about now, doesn't it? Yeah. Octopus form looks pretty fun right about now. Only it's, like, a forty thousand shell fine for indecent ink. And... Eight doesn't have that kind of money. Because if she did, maybe her hand wouldn't be lodged in a stair railing. Curse you, Sheldon. Curse you and your expensive weaponry.

"Hey, um..." Oh no. It's a voice. Heck. Frick, even! This is... Well, it's not fun. She's been SPOTTED. And that's _bad._ "'Scuse me..."

FRICK! It's that one really intimidating neighbor she has! ...Okay. Eight's never talked to her. Because she's _scary._ She's kinda short (Most people are. Eight towers over most of them. Maybe Eight's just tall.) And, she's... Uh. Staring right at Eight. Helloooo, stranger..!

"Oh, yeah... Sorry." Eight laughs awkwardly. It's one of the few things she can do with her hand stuck in a railing. She tries to press herself against the stair railing.

"Thanks," she mumbles, about to walk down the stairs, when... She stops. Aw, FRICK! No, you know what? No more frick. FU- "Hey, wait. Are you... Stuck?"

"No," Eight lies. Y'know. Like a _liar_. "I'm, uh. Tying my shoe."

"You're wearing _sandals._ " Aha! That... That she is! Oh, cod, this isn't... Going great. "Do... Do you need me to help you..?"

"Haha, I'm, uh-" She can't get out of this one. Fool! You're a fool, Eight! The fooliest fool to ever fool! A moron! A blithering moron! An absolute WALNUT! "...Okay, I'm... I'm a little stuck."

The intimidating and judgy stranger sighs. It's a heavy sigh... But not heavy enough. That sigh better be so metaphorically heavy that it can physically snap the stair railing, otherwise Eight's not interested! No. That's not the vibe she's going for. Not..! Interested!

Man. Conveying certain emotions in proper syntax is _hard._

"A little?" she says dryly. And... Ouch. Her words aren't even that hurtful. Eight's wrist is pretty sore, though. "How... How long have you been here, exactly?"

"Uh..." Does... Does she lie? _Can_ she lie? "More than two minutes?" Well. She's not _lying._

The inkling stranger (Intimidating McScary is a good name for now.) smirks. In an "I think what you're saying is funny but not enough to actually make me laugh" kind of way. Not "I'm an edgy anime boy. Fawn over me, peasants" way. Well... Is it still a smirk, then? Too much thinking. Here: McScary does a thing with her face. Is that good enough? Look. Eight's got bigger problems right about now.

McScary kneels down beside her. Awwwwwwwww FRICK this is weird now. She's, like... You know the crouch baseball coaches make to the kid who plays poorly on the Little League team? And, like, they try to comfort the kid? Like, "Hey, champ... Heard you weren't playin' so hot on the baseball field." That kind of crouch? It's that. McScary's doing that. "Lemme look..."

Oh geez oh man these stairs sure are narrow huh? Yeah. They are. Oh cod. What if McScary falls? Then what? What does Eight do then? Eight can't, like, _catch_ her. And then there'd be ink on the ground! And Eight would have to pay the fine! And... And McScary would get a concussion and her brain would hemorrhage and she'd die and it'd all be Eight's fault and-

"Are you this frazzled because your hand's stuck, or are you always like this?" McScary mumbles, looking at Eight's wrist. "You mumble your thoughts, by the way. Dunno if you knew or not."

OH GEEZ OH MAN! EIGHT'S A WALNUT! THE WALNUTTIEST OF WALNUTS! THE... Cod. She's so _tired._

"Oh," is all Eight can manage to say. Heeeey, McScary's got a pretty nice jawline. Not that Eight's looking or anything. No sirree Bob! ...Who _is_ Bob anyways? "Um. It's... It's been a long day."

"Really?" she says with a snort. "Never would've guessed." Some time passes. It's probably like thirty seconds but... It feels longer. "Okay, well... I have some olive oil. Just... Hang tight."

And then McScary is gone.

Wait.

Wait, olive oil? Is- Is that allowed? Eight probably shouldn't be freaking out so much about this, but... Oil? Of the olive variety? For her ARM? Wouldn't that make a mess? Like unsanitary ground ink?

Geez. Geeze... Jeez, even! Jeeze? Hey, that's neat. As in, there's a lot of forms of that word. Wow! Language is interesting! Golly gee whiz, captain!

Kraken.

What is Eight even saying anymore.

Is it possible to go insane from hand jail? Like, McScary'll come back, and Eight'll be covered in not-indecent ink, foaming at the mouth. "Day 1460," she'll say. "Found food. Winston is still trapped." And McScary will look at her like "What the hell... What are you doing?" and Eight will have nothing to say for herself besides something like "Do you have the oil? I'm so sorry to bother you. When I get home I think I will have a mental breakdown in the shower. I'll sit in it, too. Because that's when you know it's bad," to which McScary will get weirded out and leave. And... Eight can respect that, honestly. Eight would leave herself if she could. Mostly because she's still stuck in a railing. Gosharino, this was such a bad way to spend an evening. She could be home right now. Watching _Castaway._ Or _Kitchen Nightmares._ Or some weird Octarian soap opera. Those always had weird plots, didn't they? Like a poor woman and a rich woman would swap daughters at birth and then the rich-mom, swapped-poor lady would leave her mom to go live with her rich mom. Even though the poor mom is, like, losing her diddly-darning marbles because her daughter's going to leave her, and she's having a mental breakdown over cucumber picking. "Ouuheguhge-" (Dramatic reenactment.) "- my sweet daughter... We can go... Cucumber picking... TomorroOoOooow..." and her daughter's looking at her like "Dude." Eight's, like, almost _certain_ that was the plot of one of those.

"Hey, I'm back..!" OH HELLO THERE OLIVE MCSCARY! LONG TIME NO SEE! "Oh, good, you're not dead." Aha..! Is that a thinly-veiled jab or is it an attempt at humor! Eight doesn't care right now! McScary's got OIL! "Okay, just... Don't eat it. I think it's expired." Ooh, delicious.

McScary opens the bottle and starts coughing. Oh. Oh yeah. That's- That's expired all right. Whew! That's the bad! The not good! The not sexy! The Eight! Frick! It's like the time Eight left an apple in her car. On accident. Maybe not accident. She's lazy, okay?

"Okay," McScary wheezes out. "Okay, just- Hold your breath, I think."

Righty-o, poor neighbor!

Ah.

Something slick is on her arm. Her wrist. _Winston._

After a lot of bad oil on her arm, Eight gives her arm a tug. Yeowch! But... She felt it. A taste of freedom. A world beyond those white-painted prison bars.

She needs it.

So... Tug two! McScary also pulls on her arm. Good thing Eight has no bones, because something would be dislocated. Ooh! That's liberation, almost.

Aaaaaaaaand tug three OH MY GOD SHE'S FREE ALSO OH MY GOD SHE'S TUMBLING DOWN A FLIGHT OF STAIRS _OH NO MCSCARY'S FALLING TOO **WHY DID EIGHT EVER DECIDE TO DO THIS**_

McScary swears when she slams her head against Eight's chin. And. Yeah. She can understand that. Eight wishes she was dead sometimes. Now is one of those times.

"You're free," she mumbles, face buried in Eight's neck. "God, that took a while..."

"Thank you..!" If Eight didn't feel like her head was going to split open, she might hug McScary. Also she's covered in expired oil. So maybe not. "I... Frick. Thank you so much..."

"Don't sweat it." McScary's words are muffled. She's, like, refusing to move. "Hey, um... Whenever you get the chance... Come over, okay? It's, uh, flat 607. Only if you want to, I mean. You seem... Pretty cool." Ah~! How sugoi of McScary~! "Call me Three, by the way."

"Eight." And she smiles even though no one but the security camera can see her. "I'll stop by sometime!"

And... Yeah. Three seems... Nice. Yeah. This is comfy, kind of...

"Hey." Realization dawns on Eight. "If we don't want to get fined, we're gonna... Have to clean all this oil."

Three stiffens.

"Shit."


	6. 006 - F, Train (T)

**im doing tumblr prompt ask meme whatever. someone requested prompt 12 - "i've been buying the wrong underwear."**

* * *

There is nothing Three despises more than public fucking transportation.

It's fucking loud, it's fucking cramped, it fucking smells like ass all the goddamn time. No, not even ass. It smells like _piss_ and _the way expired cream of mushroom soup tastes_ and it _sucks_ and _fuck the subway._

Currently, Three is making the shitty fucking awful disgusting bad shitty commute back to her still undeniably shitty yet also undeniably _better_ apartment. It's about twenty minutes in total, which isn't awful. It's just… They're the worst twenty minutes of her day.

In the morning, things aren't _as_ bad. Marginally better. But the ride back? Fucking disgusting. Hellish. Another negative adjective or thirty.

Three managed to snag a seat, thank fucking God. However, she's sandwiched between the two most obnoxious fuckers known to man. The urchin to the right of her was there when she sat down and the other one, an inkling, forced his fucking way in when there was _clearly_ not enough fucking room on the seat.

The urchin has been very loudly playing some mobile game without headphones. He swears beneath his breath whenever he fucks up. At ten minutes into the commute, he's sworn about thirty-two times, but hey, who's counting?

The other asshole, lovingly given the name Fuckface McFuckYou, is just. Fucking hell. Manspreading when there's no room to manspread, smelling like seventy fucking years of cultivated ass, loudly talking on the phone - he's just. The _worst._ How would his mother feel, knowing that this is her son? Three doesn't even know McFuckYou's real name, and she already pities that poor woman.

Three's music is literally as loud as it can go, blasting directly into her ears because she fucking owns headphones (unlike _some_ people) and she can still hear his conversation. Who the hell is he even talking to, that it's so fucking important? Could it not wait until he gets back? Three could understand if it was an actual meaningful conversation, like news about a family member or something urgent, but not-

Actually, what the fuck is he even talking about right now?

Three pops an earbud out, catching a few snippets.

"Yeah!" he says with a laugh, gesturing wildly. Three's gaze darts from him to another woman on the subway who seems just as fucking done with his shit. A brief moment later, and they both look away. "Yeah, I've fu- I've fuckin' been buyin' the wrong kind of underwear, dude!"

A few more raspy chuckles leave his lips. Three resists the urge to deck him. "I know, dude, right? Yeah, I feel so fucking _stupid_ now. Dick's all chafed for nothi-"

"Holy shit," says someone, "Can you shut the fuck up already?"

Three looks up at the speaker and oh hey, it's the same woman she made eye contact with. Her tentacles look a bit odd, since the suckers are on the other side and oh wait no she's an octoling, that explains it. Her eyes, dark orange, burn with _fury_ and Three turns off her music and tries to hide her grin with a hand.

"What?" McFuckYou asks incredulously.

"You've been talking so _goddamn_ loud the entire time," she snaps, "And I have a headache, and it's fucking warm, and you're fucking loud, and-" She gestures at Three to the best of her ability. "- You're, like, fucking crushing her."

"I'm not crushing her," he snaps. "Am I?"

"… No, no, you kind of are," Three replies quietly.

He rolls his eyes dramatically as the subway comes to a stop. McFuckYou stands up and storms out, angrily muttering things beneath his breath.

"Thank you," Three breathes. The woman grimaces and sighs, gripping onto the pole a little tighter.

"He was so loud," she mutters. "You didn't look happy to be there, either."

"Yeah," she replies with a small laugh, "I wasn't." Three hesitates putting her earbud back in, wanting to say something, yet staying unsure as to what. "Uh… Yeah, thanks for that," is what she settles on, twirling the cable slightly in her hands. "Sorry, if it's not too weird, uh… What's your name?"

"Me?" the woman says, blinking. "Oh, I'm Eight, why..?"

"Just wanted to know my savior's name," Three jokes. Eight smiles a little.

"Then what's yours, fair maiden?" Eight asks, leaning further against the pole she's grasped.

"Ah, it's, uh… Three."

Eight cocks an eyebrow. "Really..? How coincidental, hm?" It takes Three a moment, but she nods anyways. "Is it a nickname, or did you just choose a number because my name's one?"

Three finds herself smiling back, replying without thinking: "I guess you'll just have to find out, yeah?"

Her subway savior's smile turns into a grin.

"Yes, I suppose I will."

"So, uh… Eight," Three starts, unusually confident, "Do you mind if I take you out for coffee as thanks?"

A laugh bubbles up from her chest. "You know, I think you're exaggerating my achievements a little." Her gentle tease and her honey-smooth voice are enough to get Three to blush slightly. "But sure, I'd really love that. You seem like quite the enigma yourself, Three." Eight fishes around in her purse pocket for a few seconds, pulling out a notepad and a pen. She hastily jots something down before tearing it out and handing it to Three. "Give me a ring sometime, okay? My stop's here, so…"

"Oh. Uh. Yeah," Three stammers. Eight waves at her briefly as the subway halts at its stop. She leaves within the crowd of people, gone in an instant. Looking down at the paper in her hand, still dazed. The awful stench of the subway and the packed car stops annoying her as much as she folds it neatly and slips it into her pocket.

God, just… What had she gotten herself into..?


	7. 007 - F, Hurt (T)

It's an infiltration into Kamabo. Agents 3 and 8 were sent to retrieve some files for Agent 7. They were on their way to a huge breakthrough now - just a little more and the Kamabo case would finally be done with, they would finally be able to move on with their lives, Inkopolis would finally be at peace.

And then they were attacked.

This part of Kamabo was supposed to be safe. Of course, they had still been alert - they always were, it was their job - but an ambush is an ambush, and...

Eight managed to fend off the sanitized octolings, but Three went down. Eight had to keep fighting - she had to, otherwise they'd... they'd both be dead - but as soon as they were dispatched, Eight raced over to Three's side.

"Three?!" she calls, dropping to her knees and pulling the younger agent towards her. "Three, are you- Are you okay?"

Once Marina made a painting, one of the ocean, with thick blue stripes and streaks raised like mountains as if the Earth shifted with the touch of her brush, as if Marina controlled the waves, water, the moon itself, and the wet paint looked nothing like the rich blue that's gushing from Three's stomach right now, slick and warm - too warm, too cool - sticky and thick, gathering around and staining Eight's fingertips, collecting around the edges of the gash and tumbling over the edge, and Eight's breath comes out ragged and fast and Three's is coming out shallower and shallower and fainter and God, it's so much easier to think about Marina's paintings than - it's easier to make an awful comparison like this than to... To-

"Hey," Three rasps, and her voice is weak and fading too. "Eight, it's... Calm down, okay?"

"What do you mean, calm down?" Eight's voice sounds snappish but Eight isn't angry - Eight isn't calm, Eight isn't... She's scared. She's scared, so scared, because Three might- She might, she could... Not be there anymore, so Eight can't be calm, she... "Three, you're- You're hurt, I can't just-"

"You said help is coming, right?" she asks. "It's gonna be alright, won't it?"

Her voice is faint and far away like the room that's spinning round Eight. It wavers, wavering beyond the weakness that comes with- With- Injury,and Eight belatedly realizes Three is scared, that's she's terrified, that- That she knows she might...

Not make it.

Fuck.

"Y-Yeah," Eight mutters with a nod, a nod too shaky to be truly convincing. "You'll- It... Yeah."

"See?" she breathes and her eyes lid shut. "We're- We're in range of the spawn point still, right?"

Well... No. The spawn points are only for the city and the areas surrounding them. That's why Pearl tells Eight to be careful whenever they go to the beach, that's why Marina doesn't let Eight get too close to the water, that's why they never leave for more than an hour at a time.

"We are," Eight tells her, and Three nods ever so slightly against Eight's arm. Her breaths are coming back shorter, coming back lighter, faster, as if her lungs aren't taking in air and are just moving, as if- As if they can't, as if-

Oh, God.

"It's okay, Eight," Three reassures. Her voice is slurred, too weak to form syllables correctly now. "I'll be fine."

(She isn't.)


	8. 008 - F, Kiss (T)

It's towards the end of their meeting. Eight's temper grows shorter and shorter with each second - Three is too stubborn, too angry, temperamental to a fault and Eight simply wants to go home and sleep.

When Three grabs Eight by the tie and tugs her forwards, Eight sighs quietly in relief. They'll be done with this soon. She's not surprised by it, not really, although her neck hurts a little. It's become routine, in a way, like all of their interactions have.

She waits quietly for Three to say something. Anything. It's how it always goes, after all. Three speaks first, Eight pretends her words don't get under her skin, and then she leaves.

Three stays silent. Eight gives her a few more seconds to find her words.

The way Three's looking at her now is a mesh of... Anger? - no, it's more like frustration, and some other thing Eight can't quite place.

At this proximity, Eight can smell Three's breath - slightly sweet with a hint of spice. Maybe cinnamon? Her breath always smells of cinnamon (Each day, Three does this, Three pulls her forwards and hisses a goodbye and Eight has to go on with her life pretending she didn't wish for the distance to be gone) and Eight wonders if Three eats anything with cinnamon in it daily. She has to, right? Yet Three strikes her as the type to constantly promote healthy eating and shame those who eat anything with more than five grams of sugar in it. Maybe Three simply has a box of cinnamon mints she keeps somewhere on her desk or in her pocket like Eight does with her actual mints. Maybe Eight is way too preoccupied with Three's mouth.

It's almost intoxicating, being so close. Eight longs to be closer, she longs to kiss Three, to kiss her again and again until they're both dizzy and out of breath, but she knows she must stay strong. She knows Three wants it too from the way she stares at her at times like these or how her eyes linger on Eight's lips when she speaks. If Three wants it so badly, Three can come and get it herself.

This time feels a little different, though. It's been well over a minute, now bordering two, and Three hasn't said a thing. She's stared, but that's it. No harsh insults muttered beneath her breath, no fury-filled glares like daggers as she sends Eight away, none of it. It's strange. It's not the Three she knows, not even the one she knew.

Now that Eight thinks about it, she thinks Three's blushing, a blush she hopes isn't mirrored on her own face.

"Do you want something, Three?" Eight asks, teasing in nature. She feels the grip on her tie loosen. If she wanted to, she could pull away easily and the garment would slip through Three's fingers. She doesn't. "Or are you just wasting my time?"

Three's brow twitches for a split second before her grasp tightens and she surges up to meet Eight's lips.

Three presses into her too aggressively, and Eight grunts softly. Once the initial shock wears off, Eight hooks an arm around Three's waist right as the other woman starts to pull away. Eight chases after her - she wanted this, for so long, she's wanted this and she doesn't want it to end, not so soon - and Three inhales sharply before reciprocating with just as much hunger. It borders on ferocious, perhaps even animalistic, as Three grabs a fistful of Eight's tentacles to hold her close.

Eight runs her tongue against Three's bottom lip and soon slips it in. Three moans - honest to God moans - which is really all the encouragement Eight needs. Gently - gently - Three bites at it, as if she's afraid of hurting Eight, as if she doesn't regularly look at Eight as if she wants to shred her guts and make Eight choke on her own blood. In a way, it's funny. Not that Eight cares, of course.

It's overwhelming in the best way.

Eventually, when they part, they're both pathetically out of breath. Three looks up at Eight with an expression that can only be described as awed, her face flushed dark orange. There's a slight sheen to her lips, coated in the smudged remains of Eight's lipstick.

A part of Eight wants to tease her for looking like she just had some kind of world-changing encounter when it was really just a kiss, but Eight's sure she looks at least a little similar.

Three's the one to break the silence.

"More," she demands, voice barely a whisper.

Eight can't help but agree, and she leans in for another kiss.


End file.
